


Broken Fingers

by tommino



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt!Mac, Whump, broken fingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommino/pseuds/tommino
Summary: Prompt from FriendlyLocalWhumper:Your whumpee’s hand is broken or otherwise seriously damaged, but they have to use it. To write a message, to use magic, to brandish a weapon. They struggle to do it, tears of pain burning their eyes and threatening to fall, but they don’t give up. They have to do this.Mac has a bomb to defuse, and it doesn't matter if it hurts.





	Broken Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted as a drabble on [tomminowrites.](https://tomminowrites.tumblr.com/) If you need whumpy ideas, I _highly_ recommend checking out [FriendlyLocalWhumper's blog!!](https://friendlylocalwhumper.tumblr.com/)

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“Dude come on, just let me do it. Your hand is totally busted,” Jack says, hovering. “Tell me which wire to cut or whatever.”

Mac grimaces and pulls at another clump of cables with his unbroken hand. The timer on the front of the explosive counts back the seconds with a sickly green glow.

“There isn’t enough time for me to talk you through it, Jack. This is an infrared detonator. It’s delicate, and I’ve gotta disarm it now - or my hand will be the least of our worries.” Mac reaches both hands past the wires to grip the interior casing. He wills his wrist to stop shaking.

_Focus on what can kill you now._

The neon of the bomb’s timer reflects strangely against the blood coating his fingers. At least three of them must have been snapped in the fight, and Mac can feel the bones grinding against each other as he pries a panel open. He grits his teeth a fraction tighter against the pain.

“Mac…” Jack warns, probably noticing how unsteady his partner is. It’s not like him to doubt Mac, but these are hardly ideal circumstances.

MacGyver shakes his head slightly, maybe to disagree and partially to refocus. “I can do this. I’m going to skip the infrared switch and just disable the initiator,” he says. “Triggering the bomb won’t do anything if an explosion can’t get started in the first place.”

Both their gazes drift back to his mangled fingers, the twisted cables. “I know I can do this,” Mac insists.

 _He has to do this._ There’s not enough time for them to get out of the blast radius, and there’s no way he’s letting Jack die because Mac wasn’t able to work past a bit of pain.

Mac pulls one thin wire forward, desperate to keep steady. The pressure on his broken finger builds like a hot brand pressed against the joint.

Jack lets out a heavy breath, crouching down again. “Look, I know you know what to do. I would never second-guess that ginormous brain.”

Mac fiddles with the compactor strip, slowly winding it away from the bomb’s initiator.

“But I am sorry that this is what it’s come to,” Jack continues, sounding pained. “I’m the one who charged in here and got us stuck, and… j-just be careful, alright?” It’s nice to know that Jack’s hesitation doesn’t come from lack of faith in his partner.

But then Mac’s index finger slips, bone shifting gruesomely beneath the skin. He gasps and flicks out to catch the wire - only to nearly drop it again when the motion sparks a flare of agony up his arm.

Mac can only press his head forward into the cool metal of the bomb’s casing, blinking back tears as a groan catches in his throat. He doesn’t dare more his broken fingers another inch, not this close to the fragile detonator.

Jack murmurs a curse and presses a firm hand to the back of Mac’s shoulder. “Easy there, brother. You can do this.”

He can’t, though. There’s not enough strength in his shattered digits to finish this job on his own. Mac adjusts his good hand, tangled amid the guts of the bomb, but he can’t let go of the casing springs that need exact pressure.

Mac takes a steadying breath, green countdown ticking away inches from his face. He’s never had to ask his partner for help with this part of the job before. If there were ever a clear sign that Mac’s hurting, this will be it. He decides to be direct, like pulling off a bandaid.

“Jack I need you to cut the initiator wire.”

“What??” The older agent’s hand pulls away from Mac immediately, but he soon recovers. Jack hesitates, worry on the tip of his tongue, but the glow of the timer must make the decision for him.  “I mean shit, okay let’s rumble.”

“Grab my pocketknife, we need the scissors. I won’t be able to… squeeze them,” Mac admits. “You need to reach in, just past my right hand. See that silvery wire?”

Jack folds open the swiss army knife with a click. “With all due respect kid, all these damn wires look silver to me.”

“Not reassuring, Jack.” A bead of sweat threatens to roll down Mac’s temple, just as a drop of blood trickles down the wire in his grip. “Please hurry.”

“I’m starting to realize how annoying that request is,” Jack grumbles. He shuffles closer, threading his hand in among the cables, scissors glinting. His face is serious despite his voice, brows drawn together in concentration. He asks again, a bit softer. “You okay, Mac?”

 _It hurts. It hurts so bad._ “I’ll be fine as soon as we get this wire snipped.”

Jack presses forward with the pocketknife, bumping Mac’s hand with a fiery jolt of pain. Mac hisses through his teeth, and Jack nearly jumps. “Shit. Shit I’m sorry, I-”

“The wire, Jack. C’mon.” Hardly the most patient of advice, but a new timer has sprung up in Mac’s mind alongside the green digits of the bomb. His fingers are going to give out any second... bones grating, edges sliding past nerves to the point of numbness. There’s not much time left.

Jack must hear the urgency in Mac’s voice, because he immediately returns focus to cutting the isolated wire. The older agent’s hands are large, and not nearly as nimble as his partner’s, but years spent with a high-precision sniper rifle has clearly kept his grip steady.

The edges of the small scissors glint, jaws centering around the silver cable in Mac’s fingers. Just a few heartbeats longer, he tells himself. He can hold on for another breath or two.

Jack squeezes, solid and carefully. Mac can feel his own pulse in each swollen joint of his shattered fingers. He wills it to slow down, to stop the blood rushing in his ears.

 

_Snip._

 

_._

 

_._

**Author's Note:**

> (to be clear, they go home happily ever after and bandage up Mac's hand and give him hot cocoa I promise)


End file.
